


Late

by MothMeetsFlame



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (also sort of), (sort of but not really), (that's the punishment part), Cockwarming, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, M/M, One Shot, Orgasm Delay/Denial, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Punishment, Sex Toys, Voyeurism, Workplace Sex, and a lil bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-03
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-19 05:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8192263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MothMeetsFlame/pseuds/MothMeetsFlame
Summary: "Better be on time tomorrow, Mr. Wesson. Wouldn’t want anyone to see how your punishment is going to play out. "





	

**Author's Note:**

> First off, special thanks to the wonderful [SamDreams](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SamDreams/pseuds/SamDreams) for helping me turn this spark of an idea into a full-fledged fic. Couldn't have done it without you :) 
> 
> Second, yay! More fics! And I have two more that need revising, so there shall be more smut relatively soon!
> 
> WARNING: Enjoy ;)

Every morning, Sam's the first one in the building. He has to be, or else...  _ oh, god _ . If anyone else found out about... 

Nope. 

He's not gonna think about it. Because thinking about things leads to punishment, and that’s the reason he’s in this mess in the first place. 

_ Better be on time tomorrow, Mr. Wesson. Wouldn’t want anyone to see how your punishment is going to play out.  _

Sam shivers as he slides his messenger bag under his cubicle desk and stares at his chair for a half-second, decidedly  _ not _ thinking about what would happen if anyone had made it in before him. 

_ I know you like it, the idea of being caught, pants down in my office. Don’t worry. I can help with that _ .

And help, Mr. Smith— _ Call me Dean, please _ —has. 

Clearing his throat and peeking once more over the cubicles to be sure no one is around, Sam unzips his trousers and lowers the seat of his pants. His face turns a blotchy red even though no one’s around to see him, but the same flush of shame doubles as a flush of arousal, and his cock hardens at what he’s about to do. 

_ Just make sure you're sufficiently prepped tomorrow or it might be… more than you can handle.  _

He grips the arm of his chair and steadies a hand on the thick black vibrator that had been waiting on the chair for him, courtesy of one Dean Smith. He teases himself for a minute, thankful that he’d taken the time that morning to heed Mr. Smith/Call-Me-Dean’s advice and slick himself up for anything short of a fist. 

He sinks down slowly, wincing as his rim parts for the toy. His fingers could only reach so far, and he can tell immediately when the toy reaches that spot inside him. Only halfway now, and Sam’s already gritting his teeth to take it deeper, forcing his insides to relax and open for his punishment. 

Thick and long, Sam can practically feel it in his stomach once he’s seated, but months of practice allows him to hold it inside of him relatively easily. Still, the stretch of the substantial girth makes a thin sheen of sweat pool on his forehead. 

_ God, Sam. Need it bad, don’t you?  _

Before he can let out the whine he knows is building, he catches the telltale ping of the elevator that signals the incoming worker bees only five minutes after he, himself, had arrived. Not good. Not good at all. 

_ Wonder what they’d think if they knew how much you liked it. Think they’d want a piece? Probably better not to find out, in my opinion.  _

Sam hastily pulls his trousers up as far as the toy allows. The opaque backing of his chair keeps his defiled ass from showing, but it doesn’t do much for the front. Sam hastily grabs the jacket from the back of his chair and tosses it over his lap, hoping that he’s sufficiently covered just as the first of his coworkers begin to trickle into the office. 

God, if he’d been five minutes later, anyone could have seen the toy in his seat or watched as Sam had been forced to take it. He’d have to start coming earlier, but right now it’s all he can do to praise the gods (and curse Dean) for allowing him to beat his coworkers to work today. 

_ Maybe this will teach you to be  _ on time  _ to work for once. If not, I’m sure there are some other ways I could convince you _ . 

Marty sits at the desk behind him, taking his seat and spinning around to talk shop as usual. If not for the sturdy backing of the chair Sam had gotten—thank  _ god _ for his size that he had an excuse for a larger seat—and the jacket placed strategically over his groin, he'd practically be on display when he spins in his seat. The motion makes Sam’s cock harden even further, and he feels precome drip from his cock. 

_ No coming. That’s the rule. I know you can get off easy with something in your ass, but this is supposed to be a punishment. You’re just going to have to take it.  _

He doesn’t remember what he says to Marty. His mouth moves and words come out and all he can really focus on is his steadily-leaking cock and the fact that if anyone were to look at the under his jacket, they’d likely see just how hard he is from taking it in the ass.

_ That’s because you’re a slut for cock. A cockslut. You’d want it just as bad even if everyone were to watch you take it.  _

Even now, he imagines their eyes on him, imagines them seeing the rim of his hole stretched wide around the base of Dean’s favorite toy, imagines the look of surprise on their faces to know that despite his size, he prefers to bottom, loves when he’s forced open to the point of breaking. 

_ Got it just for you. Knew you needed something big just to keep you satisfied.  _

Shiny with lube, he knows what his rim looks like, all red and abused from last night’s treatment. And now stretched around the cock in his ass, it looks even more so. With his ass gaped open and his cock rock hard, there’s no doubt in his mind that he looks every bit the cockslut that Dean claims he is. 

_ It’s okay. I know you’re  _ my _ cockslut, and I know just how to take care of you.  _

And everyone would know exactly  _ how _ Dean cares for him if not for the flimsy material of his jacket and the backing of a chair. 

God, that makes him even harder. 

Sam readjusts himself and tries not to squirm when all he wants to do is writhe on the cock, take it deep as he possibly can and forget about the office around him. 

_ Love when you get like that, when all you can think about is being filled with cock.  _

Between the meetings and the damn quinoa salads that the guy’s been choking down, there hasn’t been much time for it to be  _ Dean’s _ cock inside him. But since it’s the third time this week that this particular thick black cock has been placed on his seat, Sam's pretty damn sure that Dean has one idea in mind to keep him preoccupied. 

Holy fuck. Fuck. Oh god. 

Yep. There’s the idea. 

Sam bites his lip. 

Dean must've arrived at his desk. Right on time. 

“ _ Unnnhh… _ ” 

He tries to keep quiet, but it’s so fucking hard when all he wants to do is come. 

He knows Dean can see him from his office. 

_ Had a monitor installed just for you.  _

He wonders how good the film quality is, whether Dean can see the beads of sweat on his forehead or how he can’t seem to be able to keep his hips from rolling to rub the toy against his prostate. 

Sam hears the low buzzing of the toy in his ass, and he takes it as a good sign. If he can hear it, it means he's not making enough noise to cover it up. 

_ Don’t hold back. Let it all out. You know I like to hear you.  _

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck. Sam’s sure he looks sick. Fuck, he  _ feels _ sick. Feels like he has enough come waiting to burst from his cock that he could fill a whole bucket, but that’s another one of their rules: Sam’s not allowed to come unless it’s  _ Dean’s _ cock in his ass. And despite the fact that Dean left it for him, the fake rubber phallus is most definitely  _ not Dean _ . 

_ And besides, what kind of lesson would you learn if you were allowed to come?  _

Doesn’t mean he can’t enjoy it. 

Sam readjusts himself in his chair, lifting his hips up and then dropping them back down, letting the toy fill him again.  _ Oh god _ . He shifts his hips, bites his lip, feels his cock leaking into his jacket, sure that he’ll have to wash it later. The vibrator speeds up and Sam would have nearly come right then and there, but then the phone rings, and Sam’s pulled from his internal monologue of  _ ohfuckgodpleasefuckfucksogood _ . 

The call lights up the screen in front of him, and Sam lets out a whimper. He closes his eyes and takes a steady breath before clicking on his mic. 

"IT. This is Sam. How can I help you?" 

God, he’ll never be late to work again. Scouts honor. 

**Author's Note:**

> Oh no... poor Sammy... *grins* *is a sadistic motherfucker* *wants him to suffer* 
> 
> Do you agree? You should let me know _exactly_ how Dean should torture him ;) 
> 
> Disagree? Let me know all the ways Dean could make it better ;)


End file.
